


What You Look Like

by HK44



Series: Blind!Nico AU [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Blind Character, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Family, Fluff, Short, Short & Sweet, author goes overboard with descriptions, nico is blind, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HK44/pseuds/HK44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small fanfic based on my blind!Nico headcanon.</p><p>Hazel asks Nico what he thinks she looks like. His answer is not what she is expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Look Like

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my idea that Nico is blind. In this fic, he goes blind sometime after running away from Percy in the Titan's Curse, so he's seen what Percy, Annabeth and Grover look like but not anyone else.

“What do you think I look like?” she asks.

Hazel expects a short chuckle followed by a “Hazel, I’m _blind_. I don’t know what you look like.” She expects him to kiss her cheek or squeeze her hand and hum, “Probably beautiful.”

She is not expecting him to completely ignore the question.

But he does, rolling his shoulders gently. His hair falls over his shoulders and she cocks her head, thinking about trimming it a little. To his chin maybe. She decides not to let it bother her. It is a strange, somewhat personal question, she supposes, twisting around and reaching out to start the next audiobook.

“Okay, this is the third book. The one with the werewolf,” she grunts, pressing the CD into the spot but before she could close the lid and press play, he tugs her back onto the bed and lies beside her.

“I remember, sort of, what Percy looks like,” Nico says, easily. “Black hair and green eyes, right?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Well, now when I think of him, those features blur out so now he looks like the calm before the storm.” He locks their fingers together tight. “Gray clouds but a bright sky. All peace and quiet rage.”

She supposes Percy does, in a way, look like the world before a storm, steady and calm with something dangerous underlying it.

“Annabeth’s kind of the same, except she’s already a storm,” he murmurs and a bubble of laughter escapes from his mouth. “Storms where the clouds roll against the grass and lightning bursts at your feet. Smells like everything’s burning but it’s all so bright.” He let out another short laugh. “Her hair was so bright. Like the sun, I thought. But her eyes were so _gray,_ so dark, I knew she was a storm.

“Grover. He had these dark curls.” His free hand slips up to draw circles in the air. “But when I think of him, I think of a soft song and wet leaves. The kind that you play when everything stresses you out and mint leaves, strong but soft in smell, taste.” His hand dropped to his chest and she felt his thumb curve over the back of her hand. “Feel.

“Jason.” He grins sharp, flashing teeth. “Jason’s all feelings. Emotions. Strength. Vigor. Determination. And electricity rolling through your bones and filling you up with heart. He’s warmth and safety.” He laughs again and it’s bright. “He’s _Jason_.”

“What about Piper?” Hazel asks, smiling.

“Oh, Piper’s heat lingering on your skin after a fight. A catchy song that you can’t let go. The ones you listen to on repeat for _hours_ because there’s something there that makes you want to do... _something_.” His eyes flutter shut. She can see each eyelash brush against his skin. “She’s protection, a warm home with an open door. She’s care.”

His eyes open up. “Leo’s fire, _obviously_.”

“Obviously,” she teases and he swats at her face with his free hand, rolling onto his side.

“Actually, he’s not. He’s the need for heat, like building a fire on a cold day. He’s walking around in the snow, slush pooling over your shoes. Like his jokes, it’s either a good or bad feeling.” She snorts and he grins wider. “But he’s the sun on a dark day and he’s a helping hand when you need it most. He’s ash. Oil and gas. Flammable. Ready to burn, even though he doesn’t want to.”

He goes faint and she lets him stew in his own thoughts for a moment before murmuring, “Frank?”

“Frank’s a teddy bear. The old kind,” he says quickly. “Not the new ones with the cameras.” She snorts again. “He’s a hug. He’s candy-red, the ones valentine’s are coloured with. He’s the twang of a bow, the smell of the earth after a rainstorm. A rock. Sturdy, strong.

“Reyna’s a rock too, but a boulder. Hard to move, impossible to push. She’s steady like a heartbeat, the beat of honesty and truth.” There’s something sweet and admiring to his voice and Hazel ducks her head under his chin, grinning wide into his chest. “She’s an army. Predicting, calculating. She’s like Percy. A calm before the storm but with a pulsing rage and readiness. She’s the itch of a fight and the taste of a win.” He smiles nice and loose. “She’s a leader.

“Will’s pure sunlight. A bright day, flushing waves on sand. Large colourful birds. He’s the pictures you see on postcards of tropical islands. He’s loud music, the strum of a guitar. He’s the feeling of a laugh bubbling in your chest.”

“Well, laughter is the best medicine,” Hazel says.

Nico laughs. “Yeah. He’s great.”

Silence filters overhead, buzzing and Hazel waits for her turn but Nico says nothing, fingers stroking up and down her arm. She bites her lip, tempted, but says nothing, asks nothing. If he had something to say, he’d say it. Pulling back, she kisses his forehead and pushes up off the bed.

“Well, I’m sure Frank will be happy to know you think he’s a regular teddy bear.”

“A large plushie teddy bear,” he corrects, voice teasing.

“Got it,” she says, turning towards the CD player.

She’s a second away from hitting play when he begins. “You’re a warm day in the summer. You’re hot chocolate in the winter. Fire and magic tricks wrapped in a windy day. You’re cinnamon on my toast.” He pushes off the bed, hand out and reaching even though she’s only a few steps away. “You’re the feeling of home,” he says, voice snapping and she sniffles back tears she hadn’t even noticed were threatening to fall, pressing her hand to her mouth. “You’re- Hazel, you’re my sister, the image of family. You’re a lighthouse, keeping me from getting lost at sea.”

She tugs him forward, lets him stumble and wraps her arms around his neck. He keeps talking, face buried in her hair.

“You’re the brightest light in a dark room. You’re love and care and hope and family and everytime I look at you, you are the brightest thing I see,” he whispers. “I don’t need to think about what you look like. I already _know_.”

They hold each other tightly and Hazel swallows back happy sobs, kissing his cheeks when she finally pulls back.

“What do I look then?” she asks patiently, brushing tears off her face.

He smiles, happy, and his eyes are unfocused, looking above her but _seeing_ something she can't. “You look like my family,” he says easily. "You look like someone I love."

**Author's Note:**

> Also I'm on tumblr by the same name.


End file.
